


and all of the infinite versions of what could be

by majesdane



Series: que estaba tan enamorada de ella como el primer día [8]
Category: Seis Hermanas
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - San Junipero, Canonical Character Death, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: El amor que te tengo es sin límite.| five endings that might have happened, and the one that did.





	and all of the infinite versions of what could be

_i'm your girl,_ she said in the dark. _your girl. no matter what, i'm always your girl._  
\-- ernest hemingway, _the garden of evil_

we could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened.  
\-- jonathan safran foer, _extremely loud and incredibly close_

here, when i say i never want to be without you,  
somewhere else i am saying, i never want to be without you again.  
and when i touch you in each of the places we meet  
in all of the lives we are, it's with hands that are dying and resurrected.  
\-- bob hicok, _other lives and dimensions and finally a love poem_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**I. BUENOS AIRES, 1922**

 

Eight years.

It is somehow like forever and nothing all at once.

Celia finds it strangely sad, how quickly time has flown by. Eight years since they've left; eight years since they won their hard-fought freedom. Eight years of love. Eight years of never being afraid.

There is a part of her that misses Madrid. She knows Aurora feels it too. That strange wanting. It is such an integral part of them. Enough time has passed, she thinks. They could go back. But she's acutely aware that the Madrid she remembers -- all of it, the good and the bad -- no longer exists. Too much time has passed. And she's no longer the girl she was before. Neither of them are. 

She misses Madrid, in a sad, nostalgic way. And then she remembers their life her now and it seems impossible to leave it. This place has become a part of them as much as they've become a part of it. They've been happy here, all these years; they have rendered their lives anew. Since they've come, the sun has seemed to shine like it never did before. Their lives feel endless here, brilliantly, wonderfully endless. A thousand mornings of waking up next to Aurora; Celia can imagine a thousand more, their lives stretching out forever.

(buenos aires is not madrid,

but it is better for it;

because here they are free.)

 

;;

 

In the late evenings, when it gets dark, they sit out in the balcony. Celia writes and Aurora reads. It's nice to be still and quiet, without the words. Celia's always enjoyed their comfortable silences. Somewhere from down the street comes the faint strains of a jazz band playing a swinging song. 

"Come here," Aurora says, and standing, playfully tugs Celia up into her arms.

Celia remembers that evening in the Ambigú, years ago. The entire world had seen them. No one had said a word. It had been one brief, delirious moment of freedom. For a moment now, here, they are their younger selves. Filled with the lightness of confidence and new love. 

She rests her head on Aurora's shoulder and they do not speak.

 

;;

 

A little box, with two silver bands in it.

Celia presents it to Aurora on their anniversary. It's not the same as getting married, but it's as close as they will ever come. In some ways, it's more than enough. She's happy as long as she's wherever Aurora is. She still thinks often of that morning in Arganzuela, on the brink of going to war, when Aurora proposed to her. _I can't imagine my life without you,_ Aurora had said, and how much Celia had loved her then, so fiercely that it hurt. 

Aurora kisses her so hard Celia thinks their lips will bruise. 

Celia loves kissing Aurora. She'll never get tired of doing it. She wishes she could kiss Aurora all the time, whenever she wanted. She wants desperately to be able to kiss Aurora on the street for everyone to see. She wants to shout it from the rooftops, this love she feels, the one bright and constant thing in all her life.

Even now, after all these years, she can't believe she found Aurora. That they found each other. 

(bendita locura que me hace feliz.)

"Mi vida," Celia says. Her heart feels full to bursting. She kisses Aurora again. "El amor que te tengo es sin límite."

Aurora smiles like she already knows. 

 

;;

 

Sunday afternoon, they linger in a haze of post-sex daydreamy bliss, the sheets draped around their waists.

Aurora strokes Celia's hair and asks her what she's thinking about. Celia is half-asleep, her mind wandering to tomorrow. The weekend is nearly over. She has an article she needs to start working on. There's a letter from Diana that Celia still needs to reply to. Diana wants to visit, now that her children are old enough now for the long trip. Celia's other sisters want to see them too; Celia will write back and tell Diana that they can all come, whenever they like. 

Aurora is delighted. "It will be nice to see Eugenia again," she says. "Though I'm sure she doesn't remember us."

But Celia remembers Aurora, golden and shining in the afternoon light, holding Eugenia. Singing her to sleep with a German lullabye. Celia could live forever in that memory. They'd been at peace then. Adela was still alive. It had seemed in that moment like anything was possible. She'd had an idea of their happiness. 

If only she had known then, the things to come. All of the pain. But joy, too. Boundless happiness she couldn't have even imagined.

"Diana says all of our sobrinos know all about us," Celia tells her. "Tía Celia y tía Aurora, who ran away to Argentina for a great big adventure." It makes them both laugh. "One day we can tell them why we really came here," Celia adds quietly, thoughtfully, after a minute. 

Aurora is silent for a moment. Then, "Do you think they'll understand?"

Celia trails her fingers along the curve of Aurora's hip. Thinks of Adela, smiling, welcoming Aurora into the family. She puts her hand next to Aurora's and watches the light glint off their rings.

"Yes," she says softly. "I think they will."

 

* * *

 

**II. MADRID & PARIS, 1913**

 

She makes it halfway to the train station.

Right there, mid-step, in the gardens where she and Celia used to take their walks together after Celia's sessions with Dr. Uribe, is where it comes to her. She can't do this. She can't do any of it. She can't get on that train. Can't go back to Cáceres. Can't get married. 

But most of all, she can't forget Celia. How could she ever? This whole walk, she's kept turning it all over in her mind. Celia, who held Aurora's face in her hands and kissed her, crying. Celia, who looked at Aurora like the universe could be found in her eyes. Celia, who undressed Aurora so carefully and touched her with hesitant, trembling hands, like she was afraid Aurora might break. Celia, who took her hand in the Ambigú and danced with her in front of everyone, falling against Aurora, dizzy and laughing. All the moments they've shared. All the moments that there might still be. If Aurora leaves now, what will become of them?

What will become of _her_?

Aurora can't leave.

(not now; not like this; not ever.)

She turns and runs. 

 

;;

 

Here she is now, standing, breathless, in the foyer of Casa Silva. Still clutching her suitcase.

"Aurora." Celia's tone is delicate. Almost reverent. She stands, stock still, at the top of the stairs. 

Aurora stares up at her. Sunlight comes filtering in through the window behind Celia, washing her in shades of gold. Aurora can see the little specks of dust floating in the air. A long, long silence overtakes them; it's the longest one Aurora's ever known.

And then Celia is running down the stairs, wordlessly. Aurora steps towards her and they come together, Celia holding onto her so tightly. Aurora grips Celia like a lifeline; she's a kite without a string. Celia kisses her, her face wet with tears. And Aurora kisses her back with desperate, reckless abandon, and for the first time ever, she doesn't care if anyone sees them.

"You came back." Celia's mouth next to Aurora's ear. Barely a whisper. Like she's dreaming.

Maybe she is. Maybe they both are.

"I came back for you, mi amor," Aurora says.

 

;;

 

Upstairs, in Celia's bedroom. 

(propriety be damned.)

They hardly speak at all. Celia locks the door, takes Aurora's hand, and leads her to the bed. She pulls Aurora down with her, covers Aurora's face with kisses while she undoes the buttons on Aurora's blouse. Works Aurora's skirt up around her waist, slides her hand between Aurora's thighs. 

"I couldn't leave you," Aurora's breath hitches. She presses her face to Celia's shoulder. "I can't give you up. I won't. I won't." She says it again and again. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. They move together, the room silent but for their quickening breaths, the duvet working loose and bunching up all around them.

 

;;

 

"We have to leave," Aurora says, some time later. "I don't know where to, but I can't stay here. My family will come looking for me."

Celia, her head against Aurora's chest, trails her fingers over the curve of Aurora's hip. She hums a small, thoughtful sound. She sounds like she's considering something. "I know where we can go," she says.

 

;;

 

They only have twenty minutes to catch the next train. 

"But what about your sisters?" Aurora asks worryingly, while she helps Celia pack a suitcase. Guilt twists her stomach into knots. "What about the factory and teaching?"

"It doesn't matter now," Celia says, shrugging on a long coat and doing up the buttons. She must notice the look on Aurora's face, because she crosses the room and kisses Aurora gently. Reassurance.

"Don't say anything," she tells Aurora quietly, when Aurora makes to protest. Her fingers linger against Aurora's lips. "You're giving up everything for me. And there's nothing I wouldn't give up for you either." She tucks a stray lock of hair behind Aurora's ear. Then, even softer, she says, "I won't lose you."

"You've got me." 

Celia smiles. It's the kind of smile that Aurora knows is only for her. "I know." She kisses Aurora once more, quickly, before moving to the bed and grasping her suitcase decisively. "Time to go," she says, and steps out into the hallway.

Aurora, as always, follows.

 

;;

 

The trip last three days.

Three days of anxiety and worry gnawing at Aurora's insides. She imagines a thousand different scenarios, each more awful than the last. Celia promises that nothing will happen; she left a small letter for sisters, before they left, explaining that she was safe and that she'd call soon.

 _You can trust them,_ Celia says, quietly. Their hands are so close; Celia glances furtively around, then rests her hand on top of Aurora's, just for a moment. _Diana will explain everything to them. They'll understand._

Celia, ever the optimist, being brave enough for the both of them right now.

Aurora could nearly kiss her right here, in front of everyone.

(she very nearly does.)

 

;;

 

They only could afford a cramped little compartment room for the evenings, but it's more than enough. At least it's somewhat private. That evening, the second the door locks behind them, Aurora can't help but pull Celia in for a heady kiss. Aurora's been aching to kiss her all day. It feels like a physical pain when they have to pretend to not be lovers, when they have to sit so still and careful; Celia kisses her back like she knows.

Aurora watches Celia change into her nightdress while she sits and pulls her hair into a messy braid.

Celia finally turns off the cabin lights and they curl up together in their tiny bed. It's so strange, being in bed with Celia like this, the cabin swaying slightly as the train rumbles down the tracks through the nights. It's so different from the Excelsior, and Aurora is thinking now of waking up tomorrow with Celia beside her; it fills her with a bright burst of love. 

A comfortable silence settles over them. Aurora lies with her head against Celia's chest, listening to the faint sound of Celia's heartbeat. Celia's fingers skate up and down the length of Aurora's forearm, tracing long, looping circles there. 

"I'm sorry," Aurora says, after a long while.

Celia's hand stills. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

But Aurora can't stop thinking about all the things she'd said a few days ago, how they'd fought in the Excelsior. The look of devastation on Celia's face when Aurora had told her she was leaving to get married. She'd nearly abandoned Celia when Celia needed her the most. And all because of Celia's stupid lingering crush on Petra. Because Aurora was afraid, even then, of having her heart broken.

"You didn't do anything wrong." Celia kisses the top of Aurora's head. "You were right about what you said. And none of us could have known that Petra . . ." she trails off, her voice hitching.

Aurora sits up. Celia's eyes are shiny with tears. So much has happened, it's hard to believe that Petra's only been gone a little over a week. Wordlessly, Aurora reaches up, pulling Celia's hair back from her face. And then Aurora kisses her, as gently as she can. When they break apart, she runs her nose along the bridge of Celia's nose, eliciting a tiny sound of contentment.

Celia yawns. "I'm exhausted. And there will be time enough to talk about these things later." She settles back onto the pillows, reaching for Aurora's hand and threading their fingers together. "Right now, the only thing that matters is that you're here. You, and no one else."

They roll onto their sides, Aurora's arm draped around Celia's waist. She presses tiny, soft kisses to Celia's shoulder, whispering little German terms of endearment. _Süβe. Schätzchen. Meine Liebe._ Celia smells of honeysuckle. Of summer. Of freedom.

They fall asleep like that. Nestled against each other, holding hands.

 

;;

 

Paris.

It's just as brilliant and busy as Victor Dumas had said it would be, Celia tells Aurora, as they take their suitcases from the porter. 

Celia had sent Victor a telegram from the train station just before they'd left Madrid, to let him know they were coming. "It shouldn't be a problem," she'd told Aurora, as they waited for their train. "After all, he _has_ made mention before that I should come visit."

They hadn't been able to wait for a response, so it's a relief when they manage to find him waiting in the terminal. He's very different than Aurora had imagined. Based on what Celia'd told her about him, Aurora's been expecting an older gentleman, reserved and refined. But Victor is lanky and charming and boyish, with a mess of floppy brown hair, his homburg hat slightly askew.

Victor takes them the long way back to his house, so that they can get their first real glimpse of the city. He talks non-stop throughout the entire walk; mostly in Spanish, occasionally lapsing into French. Aurora can barely take note of what he's saying though; her head spins with noise of the streets, the bustle of the city. She catches fragments of conversations here and there, words she only half-understands. She's relieved that Celia, wonderfully, is fluent in French. At least they won't be hopelessly lost when left to their own devices.

Halfway through their walk, Celia takes Aurora's hand in her own, bridging the gap between them. Aurora shoots her a startled, worried look, but she doesn't pull her hand away. No one knows them here, after all. And Victor doesn't even seem to notice, he just keeps asking Celia about how their trip was.

Victor's house is in the Latin quarter, on the fourth floor on a corner building. The bottom floor is occupied by a flower shop; Aurora catches the scent of carnations as they pass by. Victor's house is surprisingly expansive, with high ceilings and worn, but polished wood floors. He shows them around, pointing out his library to Celia and promising to show her it in more detail later.

"And here's where you'll be staying." Victor presents them with a little guestroom, off to the side. 

They step into the room, taking it in. There's not much to it, just a bed and a few pieces of furniture; worn down furniture, at that. But it's perfect, as far as Aurora's concerned. She looks over at Celia and she can tell Celia feels the same way. She reaches out and gives Celia's arm a quick squeeze.

When Celia smiles at her, for the first time in days, Aurora feels like everything is going to be all right.

 

;;

 

"Paris," Celia sighs. She's standing at the high windows in the bedroom, gazing out into the night at the city's skyline. "Can you believe it?"

Truth be told, Aurora's having a hard time coming to terms with any of it right now. Three days ago they were in Madrid. The day before that, Aurora had spent the whole day crying, dreading telling Celia that she was going back to Cáceres and already missing Celia. And before that, Petra. And before that . . . the _befores_ stretch on endlessly. And now here they are, in Paris. Together. In Victor Dumas' house, of all places. She could have never even imagined that they'd have ended up here.

But in the end, all that matters is that she and Celia are together. She tells Celia as much, coming up behind her and wrapping her arms around Celia. She rests her chin on Celia's shoulder, embracing her tightly. The city is bathed in the light of the quarter moon. Far off in the distance, Aurora can make out the shape of the Eiffel Tower. 

There's so much to think about. Tomorrow Celia will have to call her sisters. Aurora will sit and write her family a letter, explaining what she can about why she ran off; she'll have to send it to Celia's sisters, so that her family can't track her down by the postmark. Tomorrow, she and Celia will have to pool what's left of their modest savings and figure out where they can go from here. Tomorrow . . .

"We should go to bed," Aurora says, after a moment. 

Celia turns in her arms. "We should," she says, in a sultry tone, grinning conspiratorially.

A little rush of desire flares low in Aurora's belly. "I meant we need the sleep," she admonishes, but she's kissing Celia even as she says it, taking Celia's hand and pulling her to the bed.

They make love quietly. Faint sighs and moans, the gentle creak of the bed as they move in it. A tiny part of Aurora says that they shouldn't be doing this right now, not when their situation is still so precarious. But Aurora can't find it within herself to care too much. Right now, all she cares about is Celia; the press of her tongue and fingers, her body flushed and arching.

Celia trails lazy kisses along the line of Aurora's jaw. "I love you," she murmurs sleepily, her arm draped around Aurora. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Aurora's been in love before. But never like this. What she feels right now is so much more than she's ever felt in her whole life. It's enormous. It's too much. It feels like it could fill up this entire room, spilling out the windows, spilling out into the world for everyone to see. 

She finds Celia's trailing mouth; kisses her.

 

;;

 

Aurora is the first to wake. She watches Celia sleep for a little while. Celia's dark hair is so stark against the paleness of the pillowcase. She brushes Celia's bangs away from Celia's face, touching her lips lightly to Celia's forehead. Celia makes a tiny noise in her sleep, stirring, beginning to wake.

"Hola, mi amor," Aurora says, as Celia's eyes blink slowly open.

Celia smiles drowsily at her. "Hola," she says, in a small, sweet voice that makes Aurora want to eat her up with kisses.

 

;;

 

They wash their faces and get dressed. 

Victor is sitting in the kitchen with a cup of a coffee and a small plate of pastries. He looks up from his book when Celia and Aurora enter. "Salut. Did you sleep well?"

"Very."

"Muy bien." Victor looks pleased. He folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair. "Perdoname if it's too soon for me to ask," he says, "but, Señorita Celia, you promised that you would tell me everything about why you left Madrid. I don't mind you staying here, of course. But I must admit that I am very curious. In our past correspondences you mentioned that you didn't think you'd be able to visit anytime soon."

He looks at them expectantly.

Celia laughs nervously. "Well," she begins, blushing, "well, you see . . . Aurora and I . . . what happened was . . . the thing is -- " Aurora's about to jump in with a lie, but before she can, Celia's hand finds Aurora's, squeezing it tight, and Celia blurts out, "Aurora es mi pareja."

Victor stares at them. "Oh."

A long, pregnant pause follows.

Aurora's heart races. She knows that of course Celia wouldn't disclose their relationship on a whim, that Celia must trust Victor. After all, Celia and Victor have been friends for years; they've exchanged thousands of letters. But after everything that's happened, Aurora's terrified of taking yet another risk. Aurora holds her breath; she'll just have to trust Celia's judgement.

Finally, Victor clears his throat. "I had feeling it might be something of that nature." He holds up his hand when he sees Aurora's about to speak. "Don't worry. I don't find it particularly scandalous, no. Should I? That seems like a very bourgie mindset." He shrugs. "And, as a scholar, I'm familiar with the works of Sappho, of course."

 _Of course_ , he says. Like it's the simplest thing in the world. Aurora chances a look over at Celia. She looks just as surprised as Aurora feels. It's all more than a little overwhelming. It doesn't seem believable. Yet here's Victor, speaking to them so plainly, like it's just an ordinary thing. It's disconcerting. But liberating too, in its own way. Relief washes over Aurora, grounding her.

"There's no need for concern," Victor goes on, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I won't judge you for who you are. Men should be free to live their lives as they please, shouldn't they? Besides, I think you'll find the attitudes of Paris to be very different than those of Spain. Speaking of --" He jumps to his feet then, grabbing his hat off the table "-- are you not familiar Mademoiselle Barney's literary salon?" 

Aurora and Celia exchange a confused look. "No."

Victor grins. "Come on," he says, handing Celia and Aurora their coats and hats. "We'll have breakfast at my favorite café. And then, well." He ushers them out the door with a dramatic flourish. "We've got a lot to do."

 

* * *

 

**III. STRASBOURG, 1914 & 1915**

 

( _marry me,_ aurora is saying,

and it's wild, it's impossible, 

but celia can think of nothing she wants more.)

 

;;

 

Celia's sisters are surprisingly supportive of Celia going to Strasbourg. In the past, they've always been wary about Celia's plans to move somewhere. But it seems as though with everything that's been going on -- Marina, specifically, Celia thinks -- something's been shaken loose in them. 

"If that's what you want, then you should do it," Diana and Blanca tell Celia, when she sits in the parlour of Casa Silva later that afternoon and explains Carmen de Burgos' job offer to them. Even Elisa seems agreeable about the whole thing, which is something in and of itself. 

Celia calls Adela first, then Francisca, to let them know she and Aurora are leaving in a few days.

"Well, as long as you're sure," Adela says, and makes Celia promise to write them lots of letters and to call as often as possible. 

"Of course," Celia says. "Aurora will write you letters too, won't she?" She looks over at Aurora, who's busy packing their suitcases. Aurora grins and moves to take the phone from Celia.

"Hola, Adela," Aurora says cheerfully, and launches into a conversation about how she'll make sure that Celia stays safe and out of trouble. She winks at Celia as she says it, as Celia sits down in the chair across from Aurora.

Celia swears that she'll never get over the joy of it, how well Aurora and Adela get along. It's silly how much it means to her, but she can't help it; she loves thinking about how Aurora is now treated just like any other member of the family. Aurora's no different from Salvador or Luis in their eyes now. It's better than that, even, because her sisters always loved Aurora, before they knew about her and Celia's relationship. Now they've just accepted all of it her -- Aurora and Celia both.

Hanging up the phone, Aurora comes to perch on the edge of the chair. "Your sister's really worried."

Celia chuckles. She leans into Aurora, who wraps her arm around Celia's shoulders. "Adela always worries about us little ones. That's her job as the oldest."

Aurora kisses her forehead. "It _is_ going to be dangerous though, you know." She looks at Celia with dark, soft eyes. "Are you sure this is really what you want to do?"

Right now, still soaring from Aurora's proposal earlier this morning and the thought of their new life together, Celia's never felt surer. 

 

;;

 

"Last night in Arganzuela," Aurora remarks the next evening. She's reclining on the bed, hair undone, watching Celia undress. She stretches her arms out, yawning. "Are you going to miss it?"

Celia crawls into bed beside her. "Some things," she says, taking out her earrings and laying them on the nightstand. She eases herself under the covers. "Not everything. There's a lot of bad memories from here that I'll be happy to leave behind." She frowns. She doesn't know why she's so moody all of a sudden. 

Aurora nuzzles against her, kissing Celia's neck and shoulders. "A lot of good memories, too," she reminds Celia gently. Her hand finds Celia's and she brings it up to her mouth, kissing the flat of Celia's palm. She presses Celia's hand against her cheek. 

"The important thing is that we're together," Celia says, stroking Aurora's cheek and moving to kiss her full on the mouth. "I'm happy as long as you're by my side."

"No puedo vivir sin ti." She can feeling Aurora smiling, when she presses Celia onto her back with a steady trail of kisses down to the neckline of Celia's thin nightgown.

 

;;

 

Carmen de Burgos greets Celia with open arms when they arrive at the train station.

It's been so long since they've seen each other. Carmen looks exactly as Celia remembers her from a few years ago. Smartly dressed and exuding confidence. Carmen ushers a porter over to have their luggage taken to her car. "We absolutely must have lunch first," she insists, and takes them both to the small restaurant on the station's upper deck. 

"Now," Carmen says, when they've been seated and handed menus. "You're Aurora, correct?"

Off Aurora's startled look, Celia laughs. "Of course I've told Carmen all about you," she tells Aurora. She pauses, then adds, "Well, not _everything_ ," pointedly taking Aurora's hand in her own, threading their fingers together. "Aurora es mi amante," she tells Carmen in a hushed tone. She pauses, smiling. "More than that, actually. Ella es el amor de mi vida."

Carmen's own smile widens. "I knew there was more to you when we met," she says, sounding superbly pleased. "I'm glad you were able to figure it out."

 

;;

 

After lunch, Carmen brings them to her apartment. "This will be all yours in a few days," she tells Celia, showing them around. "I just have to transfer over the lease to you. I'm leaving all of the furniture here; it'll be such a hassle to send it all back to Madrid at this time."

In the little spare bedroom, they unpack their things. Celia's buzzing with excitement. She can't wait to get started with work. She's already imagining, too, Aurora finding work at a hospital; she's certain Aurora will be able to secure a position in no time at all, given her fluency in German and Cristóbal's glowing references.

But then she remembers that there've been reports of hospitals being bombed during air raids. It sobers Celia some, thinking about.

"You'll be doing dangerous work too, Celia," Aurora says, when Celia brings it up. "It's war. And I can't sit at home all day worrying about you, you know that." She pulls Celia into a hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'll feel better if I'm being useful and helping people."

"As long as you're sure," Celia says uncertainly.

Aurora leans back in her arms, smiling. "Celia. I'm here with you, aren't I?" She kisses Celia, then runs her nose up and down the length of Celia's. "I'm sure."

 

;;

 

It's not long before they lapse into a pleasant routine. Aurora finds a job at a French hospital close to the newspaper office that Celia's working at. When their schedules allow for it, Celia meets Aurora for lunch. They sit in the hospital gardens and eat the sandwiches Aurora'd made the night before. Sitting here makes Celia think about when she was Aurora's patient. It was only a few years ago, but thinking about it now, it feels like another life.

She puts her hand next to Aurora's on the bench. Her fingers reach out to stroke the back of Aurora's hand tentatively. Strasbourg isn't as bad as Madrid, but it's not as open as Paris either. Celia can't wait to go _there_ , after the war. She's already written to Victor Dumas to let him know she and Aurora will be visiting someday soon.

"We can still get married," Aurora says casually one day, when they're in the kitchen making dinner. "If you want." 

She's paused in the middle of making torta de dulce de leche, Celia's favorite. There's a little spot of flour on Aurora's forehead, from when she tucked her hair back behind her ear. She looks so beautiful in the low light. How can she look so beautiful doing something so ordinary? 

( _i want to marry you because you're the love of my life_ , aurora is saying, lit up by the morning sun.)

Celia moves to kiss her, her heart flush with love. "Te quiero."

"Y yo."

"I would love to marry you," Celia tells Aurora, wiping the spot of flour away with a grin. "I want to. But, it's too dangerous. As much as I want it, it's not enough to risk losing you. Not again. I couldn't bear it."

Aurora smiles, steals another quick kiss. She brings Celia's hands to her mouth and kisses them too. "Lo que quieras mi amor," she says, and leads Celia to the bedroom, dinner forgotten.

 

;;

 

Aurora's skin is warm and pale, in the mornings when Celia wakes and presses a kiss to her shoulder; Celia wishes that it could always be this way. It is Celia's palm pressed flat against hers, fingers laced together. Aurora's hands, soft and gentle against her skin, move in all the ways that undo her. Celia wants to remember all of this. She wants to write a novel in the form of Aurora, even if she can't find the right words to describe how Aurora looks in the warm morning sunlight. 

Maybe, someday, when all of this is over, that's exactly what she'll do.

 

;;

 

On a rare quiet weekend evening, they sit out on the veranda, enjoying the last of the fading summer weather.

Celia reads out loud to Aurora until they both doze off, exhausted; Aurora's head in Celia's lap. Celia wakes, later, to find Aurora still asleep. In the darkness, Celia leans down kisses Aurora as lightly as she can, over and over until Aurora finally wakes up, kissing Celia back, grinning and tasting of oranges.

Aurora smiles sleepily and reaches for Celia's hand.

And they stay like that for quite some time.

 

* * *

 

**IV. MADRID, 2017**

 

She's the most beautiful blonde Celia's ever seen.

Celia says as much, as she lounges in bed, the sheets bunched up around her waist, her nightshirt askew and sliding off one shoulder. She watches Aurora dress; in the sunlight, Aurora's newly bleached hair is like a halo around her her head. 

Aurora laughs, tugging on her jeans. "You're ridiculous. Are you planning on getting out of bed this morning?"

Celia groans exaggeratedly, sitting up a little. "Unfortunately, yes. I promised Francisca I'd have brunch with her before my classes so she can tell me about her performance in London last weekend. But," she continues, grinning suggestively, "I could always call her and reschedule. And you could always skip class . . ."

"Mm." Aurora laughs again and crawling up onto the bed to face Celia. She leans in, bumping their noses together. "I really can't."

Celia toys with the hem of Aurora's t-shirt. Her fingers skim over the little area of exposed skin on the small of Aurora's back. "Are you absolutely sure?" She moves up, capturing Aurora's mouth in a long, languid kiss. "Because I really don't want to get out of bed," she murmurs, punctuating each word with a kiss along Aurora's jaw. "Not just yet."

Aurora sighs, shaking her head. "I really have to go." But it's an empty protest and they both know it. Her mouth hovers just above Celia's, hand drifting up Celia's thigh, over the sheet. "You're going to make me late," she says, exasperated, even as she's leaning down for another kiss, Celia's fingers deftly undoing her belt.

 

;;

 

"Now I really _do_ have to go," Aurora says, a little while later. She kisses Celia before rolling out of bed.

Celia, sleepy with satisfaction, watches her. In the adjacent bathroom, Aurora straightens her clothes, checks her makeup, fixes her hair. Aurora had cut it short just a few weeks ago, right before she'd decided she wanted to try being blonde for a while. It had certainly been a change. A good one, though; Celia likes Aurora's new hairstyle a lot. She likes the boyish way Aurora styles it, and the feeling of running her fingers through it . . .

Aurora steps back into the room, grabbing her coat. It's late spring, but still a bit cold in the mornings. She shrugs it on. "See you later?"

Celia props herself up on an elbow. "Pick me up from class? We can go to the café; I'll treat. Besides, we hired that new girl, remember? For the evening shifts?" Celia stifles a yawn. "I'm sure Diana will want me to go check in on her and see how her first week's going."

"It's a date." Aurora blows Celia a kiss as she leaves.

 

;;

 

Celia cycles to lunch and considers what to buy Aurora for their anniversary.

It's a week away and she still hasn't gotten her anything. Mostly because she's terrible at dates and would have forgotten entirely had Francisca not offhandedly reminded her of it yesterday afternoon when she called about having lunch. But also, Celia can't think of anything that Aurora might want; she can't even imagine what Aurora's gotten _her_. There isn't really anything she wants. Just having Aurora in her life is enough for her. Celia smiles to herself at the thought; she really _has_ become just as ridiculously sentimental as her sisters have teased her about.

A whole year. She has a hard time believing it.

How long had they circled each other, like two planets in orbit? She still remembers their first kiss, on New Year's Eve. Aurora standing in the kitchen with her coat on, melting snow dripping onto Celia's floor. Aurora, stepping forward, confessing, _I just really wanted to kiss you_ , and Celia nodding, her heart beating a million times a minute. How quickly Celia can be swept back into that memory; it makes her feel light-headed all over again, buoyed up with love.

( _it's okay, it's okay,_ aurora is saying, celia shivering at the dry brush of aurora's lips against her collarbone. celia's hand rests delicately against aurora's shirt. she thinks she can feel the gentle beating of aurora's heart.)

Now, Aurora was finishing up her final year of schooling, and Celia was considering going a bit further with her own education. She'd taken writing back up again, and she'd gotten a few stories published in the past couple of months. Nothing special, but it felt good to be inspired again. Either way though, she was still planning on forging ahead with getting her teaching degree. She's always had a romantic notion of being a writer anyway; she doesn't quite think she wants to ruin that by having to make an actual job of it. Freelancing it is.

"You're half an hour late," Francisca scolds, when Celia finally arrives. She's sitting out in the patio area in front of the restaurant, sipping on a mimosa. She stands to greet Celia, kissing her on both cheeks. "Don't worry, I haven't ordered yet."

"Sorry, sorry," Celia says, parking her bike. She perches her sunglasses on her head. "I got distracted this morning. And then I couldn't find one of my books for class . . ." She sits down with a huff, running a hand through her still-damp hair.

Francisca chuckles, sitting back down. "You should have brought Aurora along."

"She had class. But I'll tell her you said hello. Which reminds me, actually," Celia adds, after a pause. "I still haven't figured out what to get her for our anniversary." She grimaces. "Any suggestions?"

 

;;

 

The bell overhead chimes when they walk into the café.

It's half-full, mostly students from the university a few blocks away. Celia recognizes a few of them as classmates from last semester. Aurora gives Celia a quick kiss, before navigating to the little empty booth in the back. It's Celia's favorite place to sit; it was where she and Aurora had spent so many days in the café together, just talking. When Celia had been falling for her without even realizing it.

"Hola," Celia chirps, walking up to the front. The new girl is arranging a fresh row of pastries. She looks up at the sound of Celia's voice. Celia leans on the counter. "¿Qué tal?"

"Okay so far," the girl says. "I'm getting the hang of it. Slowly."

"Good." Celia nods. Then, embarrassed, she says, "Sorry, I can't remember. What's your name again?"

The girl flushes. "Cata."

"Right. Cata. I'm Celia. Second youngest of the Silva sisters." Celia punctuates the last bit with a flourish of her hand.

"I know," Cata says, then quickly adds, "I mean, I remembered from the last time we met."

That's more than Celia remembers -- which is nothing -- from their last brief encounter. After all, it was only a job interview; Diana's the only one who ever actually does the hiring, but she's always insisting that her sisters should join her when it came to having sit-downs with potential new employees. Luckily, that's a task that Celia's usually able to get out of, due to university. She's fairly useless at the whole thing anyway; she usually spends most of the time staring at a spot on the wall trying not to doze off. 

"Um," Cata asks hesitantly, "did you want something?"

"Just checking in," Celia says. "My sister -- uh, Diana -- asked me to. Fairly standard."

Cata nods enthusiastically. "Oh. Okay. Cool. Yeah, it's going well. Lorenza --" she gestures towards the back room "-- is on break. But she's been really helpful with showing me what to do."

"Bien, me alegro." Celia smiles. Then, with a laugh, she adds, "Pues, en realidad, I did need to get coffee too. But don't worry about ringing it up. Free coffee is one of the perks you get when your family actually _owns_ a coffee shop."

They make small talk while Cata puts together Celia's order. Cata tells Celia that she just started taking classes at a local university, majoring in art. Her boyfriend was the one who had suggested that she get a part time job. "¿Y tu?" she asks Celia, pouring milk into Aurora's cup. "¿Tienes novio?" she clarifies, off Celia's blank expression. 

"Ah, ha, no," Celia laughs again. "Not exactly." She turns, nodding in the direction where Aurora's sitting in the back, reading. "Ella es mi novia." 

Cata flushes a second time. "Oh," she says, in a high, tight voice that makes Celia cringe.

Celia's smile falters. She's suddenly, hugely, uncomfortable. "Well. I'll let my sister know things are working out," she tells Cata, forcing herself to be polite. "Good luck with . . . everything." She gestures vaguely. She takes the cups from Cata with with a hurried _thanks_ , eager to leave. 

A moment later, Celia back at the booth with their drinks. A café con leche for Aurora and a coffee, black, with two sugars, for herself. Aurora uses a napkin to mark her place, before closing her book and setting it aside. She clears her throat and remarks, "It looks like someone has a crush."

Celia blinks at her. "Who?" A pause, and then, "Cata?" She glances in the direction of the counter as she slides down into her seat. She shakes her head and makes a _tch_ sound, incredulous. "Uh, no, I don't think so. She has a boyfriend," she tells Aurora. Another pause, then, with a frown, "And I think she's homophobic?"

Aurora gives Celia a look, blowing gently on her coffee to cool it down. "She has a crush on you," she says, an edge to her voice, rolling her eyes. "I could tell right away. She was all moony-eyed when you were talking to her at the counter." 

Aurora sounds annoyed. Annoyed and _jealous_. Celia can't help but feel a little rush of happiness at that. It makes her giddy. Even now, she's still not used to having someone be jealous over her; growing up, it'd always been the other way around.

"¿Ay, estás celosa?" she teases.

"No."

Celia smirks, amused. "I only talked to her for a minute. And Cata's like, a little kid." She nudges Aurora's foot under the table with her own. " _And_ , unfortunately for her, another woman already stole my heart some time ago."

There's a hint of a smile now. "Oh?" Aurora raises an eyebrow. "Lucky woman."

"Pues, see, that's where you're wrong, because I'm the one who can't believe her luck." Celia rests her chin on the back of her hand, feigning daydreaming. "She's gorgeous, for starters. Sweet. Funny. Gets along with my sisters -- even Elisa, which, believe me, is no easy task. Oh, and she's very clever . Did you know she's studying to become a doctor? _And_ she speaks German. Fluently." 

Aurora makes an appreciative sound, trying to suppress a grin. "¿Así que es eso?"

"It's very impressive."

"You'll have to introduce me."

"Well," Celia drawls. "I don't know about that. I kind of like having her all to myself."

And then Aurora _is_ grinning, bursting into a fit of laughter. "Come here," she says, taking Celia's hand in her own and leaning across the table. "Ven aquí y bésame." 

Celia obliges.

 

;;

 

They spend the evening on the couch, cuddling and re-watching an old season of _Doctor Who_ on Netflix. Fifteen minutes into the episode, Aurora dozes off, her head drooping onto Celia's shoulder. Celia lets her sleep; she knows Aurora's been exhausted lately, as graduation and the MIR exam loom ahead in the coming months.

A little ways into the next episode, Aurora shifts in Celia's arms with a sigh, slowly blinking awake. Celia presses a kiss to the side of Aurora's temple, brushing Aurora's bangs out of her eyes. Aurora stifles a yawn, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Did I sleep long?"

"Just an hour or so. You drooled on my shoulder."

Aurora makes a grumbling sound. "Don't be mean," she adopts a tone of mock hurt, jabbing Celia playfully in the ribs. "Think of it as karma for all the times _you've_ done it to _me_."

Celia lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Fair's fair, I suppose."

Aurora grins. Her fingers grip Celia's hips, tugging Celia in closer. They stay like that for a little while, just kissing. Finally, when Aurora's hands start to creep under Celia's shirt, Celia pulls away. "Now that you're awake," she says, "there's been something that I wanted to talk to you about."

Aurora frowns. "Well, that sounds bad."

Celia lets out a nervous bit of laughter. "No! Nothing bad. What I wanted to say was, well . . . I want you to move in with me."

That seems to catch Aurora off guard. "Really?" she asks, sounding surprised. 

Celia shrugs. "Well, why not? I mean, you spend most of your time here anyway." It's true; over the past six months, Aurora spending the night has become increasingly common. Usually these days Aurora only goes home to do laundry or when she's feeling particularly anxious about an exam and wants time alone to cram. "So why don't we just make it official?"

Aurora seems to consider that. "You're sure? I mean, it's one thing for me to spend time here. It's quite another thing for us to actually be living together. Like, properly."

"I know," Celia says, nodding. "I know it's a big decision. But I've been thinking about it a lot and, I talked to Francisca, and she said . . . well, mira . . . the truth is, I really miss you when you're not here," Celia confesses. "And I don't want to miss you ever again. I want you to be there every night when I fall asleep or go grocery shopping with me on the weekends or help me make dinner or have you study while I write." She pauses, taking Aurora's hands in her own and staring into Aurora's eyes. "What I mean is, I don't care what we're doing, I just want to do it with you."

Aurora squeezes Celia's hands. "I love your flair for the dramatic," she says with an affectionate smile. "But you don't need to convince me. My answer's yes."

Celia starts. "Wait, really?" It's her turn to be surprised. "You really want to?"

"Por supuesto, Celia Silva," Aurora says. "I do. I want to be all stupidly domestic with you." She cups Celia's face with her hands, her thumbs stroking Celia's cheeks. "Yes. _Of course_ yes."

Celia feels dizzy with love. "I want to be all stupidly domestic with you too," she says, her heart full to bursting, laughing into a kiss.

 

* * *

 

**V. SAN JUNIPERO, 1987**

 

Aurora stretches out catlike in the bed, still drowsy from the closeness of Celia's body and the heat of the sun-drenched room. She presses her face against her pillow and inhales deeply. She loves the smell of this washing powder, how it makes her think of hot, lazy mornings spent lying on the beach in Formentera with her brother and sister. A long time ago, when she was young. In another world altogether.

"Meine Liebe," she whispers into Celia's air. She brings her arms around Celia, pulling her in close. Aurora rests her chin on Celia's shoulder, kisses the side of Celia's neck. 

"Cariño," Celia purrs in response, sweet as a summer day.

She shifts so she can catch Aurora's mouth and kiss her properly. When they pull away, Aurora watches Celia's eyes flutter slowly open. The way her face breaks out into a slow, easy smile makes Aurora feel warm all the way down to her toes. She kisses Celia again; there's nothing better than the feeling of Celia's smile against her own.

Celia hugs her tightly. Aurora's missed this, the closeness of their bodies.

She'd thought that she'd lost Celia forever. Celia had been so adamant about not staying in San Junipero -- 

\-- but in the end, she _had_ stayed. Somehow, wonderfully, she'd decided to stay. Aurora had come home to find Celia sitting outside her apartment door, waiting for her. Celia had looked up when she heard Aurora's footsteps coming up the stairs. Their eyes met. For one brief, infinite moment, they stared at each other. 

"Hey," Celia had said, her face breaking out into a smile. She stood up, brushing herself off. "You gonna let me in?" 

Now, Aurora combs her fingers gently through Celia's hair, basking in the warmth of the bed and the scent of Celia's perfume, rosemary and citrus. She thinks that she may never want to get out of this bed ever again, that she will just stay in this moment forever, until the end of time. 

Celia yawns and shifts again. "I'm a permanent resident now," she says, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm still having a hard time believing it."

"It was the same for me at first."

"What do you do, once you're here for good?"

Aurora smiles. "Anything you want."

 

;;

 

They go to the beach first. It's Aurora's favorite part of San Junipero; the endless stretches of white sand, the grassy dunes, the sparkling aquamarine water. The horizon stretches out endlessly; Aurora can't tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. 

She watches Celia set down their things in the shade of the forever empty lifeguard shack. Celia's wearing a faded _Star Wars_ shirt and frayed, acid-washed jean shorts. She's changed her hair; cropped shoulder length, it frames her face in windswept, ombre waves. She's effortlessly beautiful. It nearly hurts Aurora to look at her sometimes. 

Celia turns, waving. _Come on!_ she shouts, beaming.

(what can aurora do, but go to her.)

 

;;

 

Aurora's been all over San Junipero, to many different times. A hundred different worlds.

"We can go to all of them," Aurora tells Celia, as they lie in the backseat of Aurora's car, stargazing. How many times had Aurora come to this place after Celia had left, remembering their argument here? And now here Celia was again, in her arms. "All the times I've been and haven't been. All the times yet to come. I want to show you everything."

"I'm quite fond of this time and place right here," Celia says, her eyes closed, a pleased, dreamy smile on her face. "I like 1987. I like _you_ in 1987."

She moves so that she's lying on top of Aurora, so that they're face to face, their legs intertwining. Aurora's mind lingers in the little space where their shirts ride up, where they are flush together, skin against skin. Celia's thigh is against her, pressing. Her mouth is on Aurora's mouth, then on Aurora's neck. They move together in a tangle of limbs. Celia's breath, hot on her neck; Aurora's fingers bunch in Celia's shirt. 

_Celia,_ Aurora thinks. 

(a memory, faint and faded --

_to me this is heaven_

\-- a song playing on the radio when she was very young.)

The stars seem bigger and brighter than they ever have before.

 

;;

 

They jump from time to time, trying each one on like a new outfit. Even the times Aurora's been to before seem new now, with Celia.

They go to Tucker's and dance to Belinda Carlisle and Cyndi Lauper and drink rum and Cokes. They take Fermín with them to 1999 and stand on the perpetual cusp of the new millennium. Aurora introduces Celia to her friend Marina in 2013, and they both teach Celia how to play _Dance Dance Revolution_ , clapping with delight when Celia finally manages to get it right. In 1953, they sit on the boardwalk in the setting sun, sharing an ice cream cone while Nat King Cole's _Ansiedad_ plays in the dancehall a few feet away.

But invariably, they find themselves usually in either 1987 or 2016. Celia seems to like these places the best, and Aurora is happy to oblige. She has a fondness for them too: the time where she found Celia and the time where Celia found her. 

When Blanca's trial period of San Junipero comes around, Celia and Aurora make sure to always spend Saturday evenings with her in 1987. She's the first one from either Celia or Aurora's families to join them here, which adds an extra layer of excitement to her weekly visits. Blanca's instantly charmed by the place. 

"This place is amazing!" Blanca exclaims, the first night she visits. Celia and Aurora take her to Tucker's; Blanca doesn't stop smiling the whole time. "I can't believe you almost turned all of this down," she says to Celia, as they collapse into a booth near the arcade. 

"It didn't seem worth it at first." Celia leans her head against Aurora's shoulder, putting an arm around her. She looks up into Aurora's eyes. "Not until I found something I couldn't bear to lose."

Blanca chuckles. "Qué hermosa," she drawls, teasingly.

(but she's actually quite pleased; aurora can tell.)

"I think Adela would like it here," Blanca remarks quietly, after a little while. It's getting close to midnight. "Germán and Petra, too."

"I know." Celia sounds sad. Aurora reaches for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

They don't talk much about Adela and Petra. Occasionally Celia will mention them -- she'll be telling a story or she'll see something and make an off-hand comment about what they'd think -- but it always feels to Aurora like she's intruding somehow. She can't deny that there's still a part of her, however small, that still feels a little bit guilty for being the reason Celia's stayed in San Junipero. That little part of her sometimes wonders if Celia is really happy, or if one day she's going to grow tired of this place and cross over for good.

It's crept up on her, without warning. This longing in her. All of those years she lived alone; she hadn't been unhappy then. But something has taken root in her now; she can't imagine ever being without Celia again. Aurora won't be ready, if a day ever comes when Celia decides to leave. She'll never be ready.

Even forever could not be long enough for her.

 

;;

 

And then, one day, Celia suddenly, silently, goes to Aurora and embraces her tightly. The intensity of it startles Aurora.

"Jamás te abandonaré," Celia whispers fiercely, against Aurora's shoulder.

A promise. As if she's known all along.

 

;;

 

They're in Aurora's apartment, in 2016. They've got the balcony door wide open; it's a beautiful day out in San Junipero. A warm summer morning, the sky dotted with little puffs of clouds. Aurora's hair is damp, still fresh from the shower. She's dancing to one of her favorite songs while Celia watches from the couch, a bemused smile on her face.

"Come here," Aurora says, grabbing Celia's wrists and pulling her up from off the couch. She drops Celia in for an exaggerated dip, then back up again. Celia laughs, trying to kiss her, but Aurora ducks away playfully. She grabs Celia's hand and spins Celia around and around and around.

( _the greatest, the greatest alive_ )

Celia falls into her, flushed and breathless. Aurora wraps her arms around her and they lean into a kiss.

"There's somewhere I want to go," Celia says, as they sway in place while the song bleeds into another. 

 

;;

 

1913.

"Why are we here again?" Aurora asks, plucking at her high collar. They've only been here for a few minutes and already she's wilting in the heat, in these clothes. 

"Because it's cool!" Celia tells her excitedly. She's dressed in an off-white blouse with a long, crimson colored skirt. She's got a little crimson bowtie, too, to match with her skirt. A small straw hat, adorned with ribbon, sits tipped on an angle on her head. Her hair's done up into an elaborate style that Aurora can't deny looks amazing. Especially with the way little loose strands of curls tumble across her eyes. 

" _Hot_ is more like it," Aurora grumbles.

Celia looks amused. "Come on," she says. "Did you even know that we could go back this far? Didn't you ever study the suffragists in school when younger?" Off Aurora's look, she adds, "And don't lie, because I know you totally loved them. There's a romanticism about it, don't you think?"

Aurora says, "I'm not sure the women who actually lived then would agree with you."

"Probably not." Celia seems to consider that. "But it's still cool. I mean, look at these outfits." She gestures to herself with a flourish. Smiling, she steps in closer, giving Aurora an appreciative once-over. "Have you seen yourself, Señorita Aurora? I must say, this year seems to suit you very nicely."

"Well." Aurora shortens the gap between them even more. She leans in, bumping her nose against Celia's playfully. "I'm just glad that this isn't the _real_ 1913, because then otherwise I couldn't do this."

Celia giggles. "Mm, es cierto," she agrees, as Aurora kisses her once, quickly.

"Although," Celia says, tugging on the lapels of Aurora's coat. "I think a nurse's uniform might suit you even better."

Aurora laughs, shaking her head. "I'm not going to change my outfit."

Celia sighs wistfully. "Worth a shot." She pulls Aurora in for another, longer kiss.

 

;;

 

They take lunch in a little restaurant along the boardwalk. Afterwards, they shuck off their shoes and leave them, their hats, and Aurora's jacket piled next to a little dune by a pier that Aurora's dismayed no longer exists in the 1987 version of San Junipero. They stroll together on the beach, arm-in-arm, enjoying the breeze coming in off the ocean.

"It's weird to think about how Blanca will be here soon," Celia says. "And from what she's told me, it won't be long until Diana's here either." She sighs. "I can't decide if I'm pleased or not that, eventually, we're all going to be together again."

"It's sad, when you think about," Aurora says. "I mean, they have to die to be with you. Which means they have to leave other people behind." She pauses. "Well, until they end up in San Junipero themselves. If they want to, that is. There's more than just this place."

"What are the other places like?"

Aurora shrugs. She's wondered it herself quite a few times. "I was one of the early arrivals in San Junipero, remember? It was the only option back then. I've heard that the other areas are nice too, though." She vaguely remembers Fermín telling her about them once. "A little less popular, I think."

They lapse into a comfortable silence.

Aurora thinks about the idea of San Junipero beginning to become filled with all of the people from Celia's old life. Before she'd met Celia, Aurora'd stopped keeping note of the passage of time. _Then_ it hadn't mattered. _Now_ though, she's suddenly acutely aware of it. After all, one day her family will become permanent residents of San Junipero too. Probably not the same time period though; Aurora finds it difficult to believe that her parents would make any serious attempt to find her, even if it is just as easy as looking it up in the index. 

She doesn't mind the idea of not seeing her parents ever again. She still feels a hot flush of shame when she remembers how they'd reacted to her coming out to them. Her brother wasn't much better. But her sister -- Aurora wouldn't mind seeing her again. They'd always been close. Aurora misses her, sometimes. She's a little jealous of how close Celia is with her own family.

But Celia's sisters had seemed to embrace Aurora fully. Or so Celia told her. "Blanca likes you a lot," Celia had confided in Aurora, after Blanca's second visit. "She told me she can understand now why I chose to stay here in San Junipero with you." And then Celia had mentioned how Francisca, Elisa, and Diana all said they were glad that Celia had found Aurora.

Which had made Aurora ridiculously pleased. Like she'd won something she wanted very badly.

(and maybe she had.)

When they've gone on a bit longer, Aurora stops to speak. "Do you remember that night when we were on my apartment balcony? The one before you moved to San Junipero?"

Celia nods. "I remember. You asked me if . . . " she trails off. The edges of her mouth begin to twitch up into a smile. "Dime, Aurora Alarcón. Are you asking me to marry you?"

Aurora blushes, laughing. "Silva-Alarcón _does_ does sound pretty nice, doesn't it? I know that it's not the same, getting married in San Junipero. But I really want to marry you. For whatever that may be. And it doesn't have to be right away. We can wait until your sisters are all here first, if you'd like. Or we don't have to at all, --" 

"This is a terrible proposal," Celia chides, cutting her off. But she can't hide her smile. 

Celia puts her hands on either side of Aurora's face and kisses her. Celia tastes sweet, like the buttercream icing on the cake they had for their lunch dessert. Aurora can still make out the faint scent of Celia's perfume. 

"Quiero ser tu esposa," Celia murmurs, against Aurora's mouth. "I meant it when I said it then. Didn't you know?"

The sun is setting. The air is turning cold.

Evening will be here soon and with it will come Blanca. Then, someday, others, too. Aurora reaches for Celia's hand. Her hand is always Celia's to hold. For as long as she'll leave it there. When Celia smiles at her, Aurora thinks, _the only real thing here_ , and it makes her heart soar.

They run across the beach together, hand-in-hand, splashing through the incoming tide, laughing with outrageous happiness.

 

* * *

 

**VI. SAN JUNIPERO, someday**

 

When she opens her eyes, it's bright.

Celia puts her hand up, shields her eyes from the sun. The sky, clear and blue as a summer morning, stretches out endlessly in every direction. Large green mountains loom in the distance. She can smell the ocean, the salt and sand of it. She looks around, taking in the bustle of the city; the couples sitting outside cafés, nursing coffees; cars idling at a stop light.

She tries to place the familiarity of it, thinks _Argentina_ at first, then thinks _Madrid_. Celia thinks, _this is where I'm supposed to be._ She knows it innately. But she doesn't know where she is. She looks around, taking in the sight of a place that's home but not quite home. 

She takes a few tentative steps forward and starts, suddenly, when she catches her reflection in a store window. She's twenty-five again, in a pale yellow sundress and ballet flats, her hair tumbling down her back in loose, lazy curls. 

And then, in the reflection, behind her --

Celia turns.

A woman, just a few feet away. Sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair. She's dressed boyishly; a loose-fitting, plaid button down shirt tucked into a pair of jeans with the cuffs rolled up to the bottom of her calves. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, long bangs swept across her forehead to one side, a bright blue bandana folded up into a headband. She's talking to a young man, smiling and reaching up to ruffle his hair affectionately. _Lucas_ , she calls him, and the name tugs on something deep inside Celia. 

She looks so different, dressed like this. But even now the lilt of her voice is unmistakable. The curve of her neck, the slope of her back. Her smile. Her laughter; she laughs, and sound floats up into the open air like bubbles. Light and delicate. Celia wants to shout, wants to run to her. But her voice catches in her throat, and she is faint with astonishment. 

(after all this time.)

Here is Aurora now, turning, smiling. Looking as young and beautiful as the first day they met.

_Celia._

The sound of Aurora saying her name is still the sweetest thing Celia's ever heard.

It feels like coming home.

 _Well, here I am_ , Celia says. At last.

Aurora gazes at her dreamily. Her eyes, glossy with tears, sparkle in the sunlight. _Well, here you are,_ Aurora says softly, and kisses her.

Kisses her, slow and gentle, one hand stroking Celia's cheek. Just like Celia's always remembered, all of these long years past. It's like a dream. She can't believe it. She's dizzy and breathless. She thinks she might swoon. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest that it almost hurts. She knits her fingers into the fabric of Aurora's shirt and pulls Aurora in as close as she can. She kisses Aurora, and kisses her, and kisses her. Kisses her until she can't anymore, she's smiling too much to kiss her properly, full to bursting with love and outrageous happiness.

Aurora sighs, rests their foreheads together. Celia closes her eyes, lets the moment wash over her. They stay like that for a minute, still and quiet.

Finally, Aurora kisses Celia's cheek, once, and leans back in Celia's arms. She reaches up, taps the corner of Celia's tortoise shell cat-eye glasses. _These are little different than I remember,_ she remarks, grinning. _But you still look just as pretty._

Celia laughs, kisses Aurora again. She never wants to stop kissing her. Not ever again.

A car horn sounds, from somewhere down the block, and suddenly it occurs to Celia that they're in public. That they kissed for the whole world to see. And nothing's happened. She glances around. No one's staring or shouting. No one seems to have even noticed. They could be any other couple right now. 

Celia looks at Aurora, confused. _How -- ?_

 _There's a lot to explain,_ Aurora says. She hasn't stopped smiling. She reaches for Celia's hand as she steps back, lacing their fingers together. _And I promise to tell you everything. But first, there's someone you should meet._ She nods in the direction of the man she'd been talking to, gesturing him over.

(celia thinks, i know him, somehow, i know him.)

 _This is Lucas,_ Aurora says, sounding proud. She squeezes Celia's hand, looks at her expectantly. 

Lucas grins. He's tall and broad-shouldered. Young, maybe eighteen or so. Clean-shaven. His hair is cropped close on the sides, neatly parted and styled. The wind has worked a few curls free, though; they fall across his forehead and make him seem boyish. Celia can't believe she didn't notice it before, how much he resembles Aurora. The color of his eyes. The way he smiles. 

Celia looks at him, and now she understands.

She turns to Aurora. _He's . . . your son._

Aurora beams at her. _Not mine,_ she tells Celia. _Ours._

A pause, as what Aurora's just said settles over her. 

(oh.)

(oh, oh, _oh_.)

_¿De verdad?_ Celia's voice catches and it comes out strangled and thin. _Really?_ she asks again, still hazy with disbelief, and Aurora is nodding and laughing and crying and kissing Celia's cheek and wrapping her up into an embrace.

(celia, standing in the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishcloth, saying, _it's a good name, isn't it?_ , and aurora looking at her like she's just hung the moon, like it's the most brilliant thing celia's ever said, and maybe it is -- )

Lucas says, brilliantly, miraculously, _Hola madre,_ and sweeps them both into his arms. 

 

;;

 

Everyone's here, in the house that's like Casa Silva but also isn't. Adela and Germán. Blanca and Cristóbal. Salvador. Carolina. Them, and all the others. Even Petra, who smiles and says, _It's about time,_ and embraces Celia fiercely, just like she always used to.

There's so much to talk about. Celia wants to know everything about this place, wants to tell them everything that they've missed. All of the things she's been wanting to say since they've left. There's time for that later, Adela tells Celia. She smiles knowingly at Celia and Aurora and quietly ushers everyone out of the room.

Aurora grins and takes Celia's hand and shows her around the house that is impossibly big. In the room by the garden, Aurora pauses to kiss her. The windows are thrown open. Celia can smell freshly cut grass and spring flowers. 

Upstairs is Celia's old bedroom. 

And in it sits their old bed, from their little apartment in Arganzuela. It's a bit bigger than Celia remembers. But it's still the same patterned bedspread and the same headboard, the brass dull with age. 

_There used to be two beds in here,_ Aurora tells her, _For me and Lucas._ She smiles, remembering something. _I used to tell him stories about you to help him fall asleep. About Madrid and Argentina and all of those moments in between. Everything that you were. Everything I hoped you'd become._ Her thumb strokes across Celia's knuckles. _Now you can tell him stories too._

But right now, there's not much more to left to say.

 

;;

 

 _San Junipero,_ Aurora calls it. This place. This beautiful timelessness. Her fingertips graze along Celia's bare skin; the curve of her breasts, the slope of her calves, the angle of her hip. Her mouth finds Celia out; the hollow space at the base of her throat, the apex of her thighs. 

San Junipero. It is the first time all over again; nervous energy and trembling need. The heady scent of arousal, and Aurora's perfume, lilacs in the flush of bloom. One of Celia's hands on Aurora's head, fingers threading through her hair. The other gripping the sheets. The heel of her foot pressing into Aurora's back. Muscles tensing, tensing, tensing; a spring wound too tight. Stars behind her eyelids. Shaky kisses and stuttered breaths and weak limbs and sleepy satisfaction.

(and love --

aurora leaning across a park bench, whispering _meine liebe_ , and it makes celia feel warm all the way down to her toes

\-- endless, endless love.)

San Junipero; juniper; everlasting.

It could be heaven.

 

;;

 

They lie in bed together, face-to-face, holding hands. Celia hasn't wanted to let go of Aurora's hand all day. She was half-amazed, when she _did_ let go, that she didn't wake up to discover that this was all a dream. Her mind is hazy, too full of everything that's happened today. 

_I love you so much,_ Celia says. _And I missed you so much. So much I could hardly stand it. I thought that I would die. I wanted to._ She's surprised at how easy it is to admit that. She presses their clasped hands against her chest, hopes Aurora can feel the rapid beating of her heart. _Sometimes I would wake up and miss you so badly that I would think: today I will do it. Today I will go to her._

 _But, you didn't,_ Aurora observes, not unkindly. She untangles their fingers, traces a line along the curve of Celia's jaw. 

_No. Because I love you too much,_ Celia says. She turns her head. Kisses Aurora's palm. _So I lived for you._

 

;;

 

Time moves differently here.

Lucas aged, before Celia arrived, but now he is perpetually nineteen. All the children that come to San Junipero seem to age and then eventually, inevitably, stop. But Aurora hasn't changed at all; she looks exactly the same as she did before, the last time Celia saw her. Only now she's awash in the new styles of the present Celia came from. Adela says that everyone arrives differently; she tells Celia about how she saw their mother first, how she sang Adela to sleep. Sang her into San Junipero.

 _I dreamed about you,_ Aurora says, as they sit outside a tiny coffee shop, sipping frothy lattes. _I dreamed of you and I waited for you. I thought of all the time that was passing in here -- the years, the decades -- and imagined you, what you might be doing. And I imagined you imagining me._

Celia tells her about the books she wrote. The novels, the poetry. All of it about Aurora, every line, every word. The only true thing she could ever write. The only thing that ever mattered. Even her essays, her articles for the newspapers; whenever she wrote them, she would sit alone and read them out loud and imagine Aurora beside her, rapt with attention. 

Aurora leans back in her chair. _I wish I could have read it all,_ she sighs wistfully.

 

;;

 

In their bedroom, that evening, Celia notices the stack of books on the shelf above the dresser. 

She thumbs through them.

Novels, prose, essays; it's all here. Everything she ever wrote.

 

;;

 

Days pass. Weeks, months. A new decade, then another. Years and years and years; they all start to blur together. Celia stops keeping track. That sort of thing doesn't really matter now. Time passes, and more people arrive. First all of the ones that Celia knows, then the ones she doesn't. 

Living in Casa Silva is nice, at first. But eventually Celia begins to miss the quiet. And then one day Aurora comments that she's nostalgic for their small apartments, the way things used to be. Celia remembers how they lived in Arganzuela and Buenos Aires, just the two of them. The easy silences and the spaces they shared.

_So let's move._

Celia's half-teasing, but Aurora looks at her so seriously that it feels like this is the start of something enormous. She grins sheepishly, admits that she isn't even sure if they _can_ move. But she'd like to try. So they go out into the city, and there it is, just like that. The magic of San Junipero, is what Aurora calls it. A new version of their old apartment. The one from Arganzuela, where everything began.

Celia pulls Aurora in with a celebratory kiss, giddy with joy. They kiss and kiss and make love right there, on the polished hardwood floor, sunlight streaming in through the windows, while the sounds of the city drift up from the streets below.

 

;;

 

And then, some time later, standing on the beach at night, under the stars, Celia takes Aurora's hand,

and says,

quite plainly,

_Cásate conmigo._

_No ring this time,_ Aurora notes, smiling. Her eyes shine in the moonlight. _Not even a makeshift one._

Celia laughs, and kisses her. Aurora tastes like cinnamon, coffee.

(like the lattes they had earlier, at the little café downtown that celia's grown to love so much;

or the dark roasts in buenos aires, the ones they sipped out on their balcony, watching people pass below on the street;

or the steaming cups they drank on the cold winter mornings in arganzuela, before work;

or the café con leches at the ambigú, before their first kiss.)

Aurora's hands settle on Celia's waist. _Remember those nights in Argentina? When we danced in our apartment to the bands playing down the street?_

 _Of course._ Celia rests her head on Aurora's shoulder and closes her eyes. They sway together, nice and slow, just rocking in place. One of Aurora's hands comes up, stroking Celia's hair absentmindedly. _I remember everything,_ Celia says. _Every single moment. How could I ever forget?_

(two years; two perfect years.)

(nothing had ever taken their place.)

That little spark of love -- the one that had burst into life in her chest from the moment Aurora looked at Celia and told her she wasn't alone -- it still burned just as brilliantly as before. She presses a kiss to Aurora's shoulder, through her thin hoodie. It doesn't seem possible, that she can love someone this much. 

(a memory floats to the forefront of her mind:

a light i'd never seen before.)

_You were the brightest thing that ever came into my life._

They stay there for a long time, dancing to music from another time and place. Music only they can hear.

 

;;

 

And, finally --

Strings of lights decorate the garden's perimeter, little golden bulbs that remind Celia of fireflies. The altar stands in the back, all beautifully carved wooden arcs and lilies and white roses. Celia's sisters sit in the front row of chairs with their mother and father. And everyone else behind them, row upon row upon row, family and lovers and friends and everything else in between. 

Aurora, at the altar, in an elegant pearl gown with lace sleeves, the hem pooling at her feet, a crown of orange blossoms upon her head. She's done her hair up into the style she always used to wear before. Before San Junipero, before all the years they spent together. Before everything that happened. She looks just like how she did on the day Celia first fell in love.

She's at the altar with Padre Julian, who smooths down an invisible crease in his robes. Cristóbal and Petra linger to the side of Aurora, dressed in a matching dove gray suit and dress, respectively. Cristóbal says something that makes Aurora laugh; when she tilts her head back, her earrings catch the light and sparkle. Celia's heart swells; Aurora's never looked more beautiful. Aurora seems to sense Celia watching her. She looks over, catches Celia's gaze. She winks and flashes Celia the kind of smile that's only ever been meant for her.

Lucas, next Celia, finishes fixing a thin silver bracelet around her wrist. Straightening, he holds his arm out for Celia to take it. _Ya es hora, mamá._ He looks towards the altar. _She's waiting._

(she'll never have to wait again.)

And here is Aurora now saying, _I do, I do,_ starry-eyed and sweet, Celia's hands in hers.

The air is thick with the scent of summer flowers in bloom. Their rings seem to glow in the late afternoon sunlight, the sky streaked with thin wisps of clouds. Here is Celia, looping her arms around Aurora's neck, leaning in, kissing her.

When they pull apart, Aurora says, _Mi esposa,_ in a quiet, giddy voice. There's a dreaminess to her tone, like she can't quite believe it, not even now.

( _y mi amado es para mí_

 _y yo soy para mi amado_ )

 _Soy tu esposa,_ Celia whispers fiercely, nodding and laughing, cupping Aurora's face in her hands. Kissing her. _Mi amor. Mi vida._

It had always been Aurora.

Aurora, her savior. Who held her hand and never let go. Who kissed her and filled her with light.

It was always her, and no one else.

 _Te quiero,_ Celia says. _Para siempre._

For as long as that might be.

And even longer, still.

 

 

* * *

 

 

the burning is over,  
the fire is done;  
  
now it's time  
to glow.

\-- xan oku

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to heartsways for looking this over.
> 
>  
> 
> **I** : What if Aurora hadn't gotten cholera and they stayed in Argentina?  
>  **II** : What if Aurora didn't marry Clemente?  
>  **III** : What if Celia had followed through with Carmen de Burgos' job offer?  
>  **IV** : What if Aurora was blonde? Inspired by Luz dying her hair. A continuation of [fill my lungs with sweetness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7898032).  
>  **V** : A continuation of [whatever our souls are made of](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9536615).  
>  **VI** : The "real" ending, as confirmed by Candela. A continuation of [wherever i am, some part of you is a part of me too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9715415).


End file.
